


The courtship of Kozume Kenma (with unneeded assistance from Bokuto and Kuroo)

by princessofmind



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fingering, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Tengu, Trans Male Character, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofmind/pseuds/princessofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I need a feather.”</p>
<p>That jolts Akaashi out of their daze, and they arch an eyebrow in the witch’s direction.  “Pardon?  A <i>feather</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The courtship of Kozume Kenma (with unneeded assistance from Bokuto and Kuroo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skittidyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/gifts).
  * Inspired by [bell, book, and candle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766450) by [skittidyne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne). 



It started, as almost all things with Kenma do, with a spell.

The witch was sitting at the stall (god only knows where Bokuto and Kuroo had run off to), the end of his pencil stuck firmly between his lips and his bangs pinned back out of his hair with the most ridiculously cute hairpin that resembled a cat. Kuroo had been whining about being cooped up in the apartment too much, and somehow managed to wheedle Kenma out to the market as well. He _did_ need ingredients, but he wasn’t quite done writing, and besides, Kuroo was perfectly capable of going shopping without him.

But then the demon had gone on and on about how Kenma’s ass was probably permanently fused with his desk chair, and how Kuroo couldn’t even remember the feel of wind on his cheek or the sunshine warming his hair and pretty much anything was better than sitting there listening to him go on.

Which lead to his current position, sitting at the booth with the much more quiet (and somehow more intimidating) owl tengu for company. Akaashi was mostly watching the crowds, but their eyes sometimes flicked over to take in the ink stains on Kenma’s fingers and the words taking place under his pen (an inferior instrument, but it was a pain to take a quill and ink when he was out and about).

Akaashi very much enjoyed watching Kenma work, although they knew that the witch got twitchy if they were too obvious about it or if he could feel the weight of the other’s gaze on him. But it was quite the enchanting sight, with his hair glinting gold in the sunlight and his skin seeming shades paler for the contrast.

They’re so lost in thought that they don’t notice the way Kenma is now watching them in return, eyes flicking from the paper in front of him to the tengu occupying the neighboring chair.

“I need a feather.”

That jolts Akaashi out of their daze, and they arch an eyebrow in the witch’s direction. “Pardon? A _feather_.”

“Ah, yes,” Kenma says, brushing the hair that had escaped from his clip out of his eyes. “A lumbar feather, it says. I’m...not exactly sure what kind of feather that is, but since it’s specific, I wouldn’t want to mess up by getting the wrong thing.”

Akaashi almost asks why he would be asking them and not Bokuto, but that question pretty much answers itself. The four of them seem to have sorted their respective relationships out, but Kenma has had very little to do with the tengu beyond tolerating their presence. And that was fine by them, they weren’t about to push things, but it was no secret that Bokuto’s particular brand of rambunctious made the witch’s anxiety spike into overdrive.

“I don’t mind letting you take your pick,” Akaashi says with a shrug. “Just not here. I’m not keen on stripping in front of the entire market.”

Kenma’s cheeks flush a barely-perceptible shade of pink, and they can’t help feeling a bit satisfied at being able to bring such a fetching color to his face.

Bokuto and Kuroo apparently decided to make tonight “date night” (they’re both inordinately fond of the human word, although they really doubt that hunting and fucking counts as a date by human standards), so Akaashi follows Kenma home, using the ignore-me spell (now common knowledge between their little group of four) to make it there without incident or resorting to using his glamour.

It’s a pleasantly crisp fall day, and the last thing they want to do is spend it in Kenma and Kuroo’s stuffy little apartment, but the sooner this gets taken care of, the better. Fluffing their wings after squeezing through the door, they waste no time in stripping their dress off over their head and folding it neatly over the back of the couch.

Kenma makes the weirdest sputtering noise, but falls quiet when Akaashi glances back over their shoulder. “These,” they explain, having to twist their arm a bit strangely to indicate the soft, downy feathers that rest at the small of his back, forming an upside-down V shape that runs down into the proper feathers of his lower body, “are lumbar feathers. Entirely useless, but I suppose they’re soft.”

The witch is still staring at them, and it’s honestly starting to make Akaashi uncomfortable. They rustle their feathers and clear their throat, which appears to launch Kenma into action, and the pink from earlier is nothing compared to the scarlet that’s engulfed his face to the point that it’s starting to bleed down the back of his neck.

“Ah, um...d-do you mind if I...?”

Well, that’s not a very clear question at all, but Kenma is starting to look more and more like a startled cat the longer he stands there, and they have the patience of a saint after being with Bokuto for so long. “Kenma, if I minded, would I have offered? Just don’t yank out a whole handful and I won’t care.”

Besides, there’s probably a few loose back there anyways. It’s been a busy month, so they and Bokuto haven’t been grooming as much as they usually do. With a jerky nod, Kenma disappears from the room for a moment, returning with a wooden bowl from his workshop. Slowly, like he’s afraid that Akaashi is going to whirl around and get his claws in his stomach, he eventually creeps close enough to settle his fingers on the small of Akaashi’s back.

They’re small and pale and above all, _cold_ , but the pressure is a lot more tentative and careful than what they’re used to. Kenma makes a surprised noise, letting his fingers sink properly into the down.

“They’re...soft,” he murmurs, before interrupting himself. “Which is exactly what you just said, I realize.”

Akaashi hopes that they successfully smother their laugh with a cough, but regardless, Kenma strokes his fingers, barely able to move more than a couple inches up or down (since they figures the witch would literally die of mortification if he started getting anywhere near their ass), but it feels nice regardless. It’s the kind of tentative contact that speaks of someone not familiar with the kind of casual touch and intimacy that’s so important to tengu, and Akaashi finds themselves wondering what it would be like if Kenma wanted to help groom his wings as well.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?”

“Mm,” Akaashi responds, and they’re acutely aware of how thankful they are that Bokuto and Kuroo are both absent for this moment. It’s a fragile thing, thin as a soap bubble, and the two of them hooting and making lewd remarks would undoubtedly ruin things.

The careful motions of Kenma’s fingers dislodge enough of the small feathers to fill the palm of his hand, and it soothes an itching at the small of their back that Akaashi hadn’t even realized was there. The feathers are transferred to the wooden bowl, but Kenma’s fingers continue to absentmindedly move through the down, working up to where the feathers bleed into skin.

Before Akaashi can even really process what the careful touch feels like against their bare skin, the witch jerks his hand back, looking at the appendage like it offended him. The tengu cocks their head to the side, puzzled, but Kenma just mumbles something completely incomprehensible before scurrying into his study, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him.

_Well_.

As weird as the incident was, Akaashi decides not to say anything to anyone about it. Kenma is rarely receptive of Kuroo’s affections, seeming instead to merely tolerate them instead of openly indulging them, so to have been touched so voluntarily feels intimate and private in a way they aren’t willing to spoil by running their mouth.

Bokuto ends up being the one to bring it up, although not directly, one night as they lay together and look up at the stars. Akaashi is on their back, with Bokuto laying on their chest, making a sound that would be a purr if he wasn’t an owl at the way the other is stroking their fingers through his hair and the feathers on the back of their neck.

“Kuroo says that Kenma’s been asking about you a lot,” he says, voice sounding sleepy. “Did you do something to him?”

“Why do you assume that _I_ did something to _him_?” Akaashi asks, a bit indignantly. “He required my help with something the other day, is all.”

“ _Something_?” Bokuto asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“A _spell_.”

Bokuto looks disappointed, huffing and turning his nose against Akaashi’s chest. “That can’t be all. Kuroo says Kenma turns like, _super_ red whenever he asks.”

Well, that makes their stomach do something a bit interesting. “Do you two not have anything better to do than gossip about your significant others?”

Bokuto pops up, planting an enthusiastic kiss on their lips. “I’m your significant other,” he says, hushed and gleeful.

“Yes, yes, you are,” Akaashi replies, rolling their eyes for all that their tone his fond.

“But we were bored, and gossiping is the only way to keep Kuroo awake after sex. He just falls asleep after otherwise,” he wines. “ _Anyways_. So because he was acting all weird, Kuroo asked him if he like, _liked_ you.”

“And?”

Bokuto makes a sympathetic face. “He ordered him to sleep on the couch for the rest of the week.”

“Well, hopefully that taught him to mind his own business when it comes to Kenma and I.”

“I don’t really think so,” Bokuto says, resting his bony chin right on Akaashi’s sternum, which, ouch. “He asked him later if he wanted to have a foursome with us.”

If this were a movie, Akaashi would have had a drink in their mouth and dramatically spit it out at the rather blase deliver of such a statement.

“He asked him _what_?”

Bokuto rambles on. “Well, and apparently he didn’t say no? He just stomped off and locked himself in the workshop, so I think that’s Kenma-speak for yes. At least, according to Kuroo that’s Kenma-speak for yes.”

“I’m not going to have sex with someone just because they didn’t say no,” Akaashi says, pinching the bridge of their nose. They’re starting to get a headache. “And neither are you.”

“I know,” Bokuto whines, reaching up to stroke his claws through Akaashi’s hair. “But you and Kenma would be so _pretty_ together. I’d honestly be happy just to watch.”

And Akaashi won’t lie and say that the thought has never crossed their mind, especially after the encounter at the apartment. Kenma is gorgeous, thin and pale like a wisp of a spirit, but there’s so much power housed in that tiny little body that it makes him all the more attractive because of it. He mumbles and minces words, but when cornered, his tongue is sharp, eyes blazing like fire, and they’ve seen what it looks like when the things he loves are threatened.

“I don’t want to make him uncomfortable,” Akaashi admits after a silence that stretches on just shy of too long. “Simply because he is indulgent of you and Kuroo doing whatever you please doesn’t mean he wants to engage either of us. I get the feeling that just one relationship might be overwhelming for him sometimes.”

Bokuto makes an unhappy noise in the back of his throat, one that sounds suspiciously like the cat-like noises that Kuroo makes sometimes, and buries his head against Akaashi’s chest. “Still. I think you’d be good for him.” He peeks up, golden eyes glinting in the light of the stars. “You’ve been good for me.”

Akaashi can’t think of a better response than to kiss him, so they do, with great enthusiasm, and figures that will be the end of that.

At least, until Kenma turns up on their doorstep about a week later.

That means someone has been _meddling_ , and they really hate the example Sugawara has set for the two impressionable youngsters (cough Kuroo and Bokuto cough) because in his case, the meddling worked. Akaashi and Bokuto are happily mated, Kuroo and Kenma are...well, not dancing around each other, and Bokuto and Kuroo are positively blissful. But now, apparently, the two of them think the best way to solve things is get their hands in it, which explains why Kenma looks so ruffled.

“Good morning,” Akaashi greets mildly, not even pretending like they aren’t looking around to see where Bokuto is. He’s the only one who could have brought Kenma here, after all.

Kenma mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like cursing, in Russian, and Akaashi pinches the bridge of his nose in a way that’s fast becoming a habit.

“You’re stuck now, aren’t you?”

Kenma makes a lemon face.

“Well, at least come in and have some tea before I walk you out,” Akaashi says, stepping out of the way and beckoning Kenma to come inside. It’s probably his first time in the tengu realm, and he was more than likely literally snatched and then subsequently dumped here with no instructions other than “find Akaashi”. Bokuto is getting a very stern talking to when he comes home.

Shuffling through the doorway, Kenma tries to look like he isn’t intensely curious about the inside of the house, and Akaashi saintly ignores the timid little glances. They aren’t a very decorative person, and while Bokuto brought a lot of knick-knacks with him when he moved in, they haven’t quite overtaken the house yet. It’s tasteful, and the kitchen is mostly dark wood, with a large window over the sink and a skylight over the table (they both prefer natural light).

“Is oolong okay?” Akaashi asks idly, filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove.

“Ah, yes. I’m not picky,” Kenma says, taking a seat slowly, like he’s afraid the carved wood will suddenly come to life and bite him in half.

Well, this is already supremely awkward.

“I think we’re being set up.”

Kenma doesn’t quite make the lemon face again, but his expression scrunches, and the same scarlet blush from their last encounter wastes no time in dominating his face again. “They need to mind their own business,” he says hotly.

“I agree,” Akaashi chuckles, and some of the tension leaves Kenma’s shoulders at their words. “But their hearts are in the right place. Hopefully.”

“I don’t know what they want from me,” Kenma says, sounding frustrated, and Akaashi busies themselves with getting out two earthenware mugs and filling the tea balls with a mix from one of the silver canisters sitting next to the sink.

“I think they just want you to be happy,” Akaashi answers carefully, weighing their words as they measures out the tea leaves. “The same way they’re happy.”

Kenma is quiet, and when Akaashi glances over their shoulder, the witch looks pensive and incredibly uncomfortable. They’re reminded of the conversation Sugawara had with all of them, about how “you have to talk about your feelings, even if it’s uncomfortable and it sucks, because otherwise you’re all going to be miserable and have no idea what’s going on”. This has obviously been the hardest on Kenma, evident by the way he looks like he’s chewing on his tongue and would rather fight a matagot than be where he is right now.

But unlike Bokuto and Kuroo, Akaashi isn’t going to poke and prod him into talking. Instead, they just wait for the kettle to boil, and when it does, carefully pours the water into both cups, idly dipping the tea balls in and out to help disperse the tea (they know it doesn’t actually make things go faster, but it gives them something to do while their back is turned).

“I’m not good at stuff like this,” Kenma eventually says, voice soft and fragile. “I’m really, really not. Kuroo and Bokuto make it look so _easy_.”

Akaashi understands what they mean. It was a point of jealousy for a bit, because the two of them came together so naturally that it made their heart ache. The intimacy, the casual touch, it was second nature, and even shortly after they met, the two of them always seemed to be touching in some way, be it their hands or when Bokuto would go so far as to literally cling on to Kuroo like a child.

But they knew that Bokuto didn’t love them any less for it; their mate had a huge heart, with more than enough love for one person, and the way he loved them was different from the way they loved Kuroo, and they imagined that with Kuroo, it was the same with Kenma. But that didn’t mean that it would be so easy or natural for Kenma or Akaashi; they were more reserved and tentative, less likely to go outside their comfort zones.

“I know what you mean,” Akaashi sighs, turning and setting one of the mugs in front of Kenma. “I’ll be uncharacteristically candid with you and say that I like you, and I enjoy spending time with you, but...”

“But you’re not sure if we could ever be like them,” Kenma finishes, plucking idly at the silver chain that hangs over the edge of his mug from the tea ball. Silence falls between them, the only sound coming from the movement of their mugs and the sloshing of the tea within.

“Perhaps...” they say, pursing their lips, “it’s not a bad thing, if we aren’t like them. I can’t imagine keeping pace with that kind of courtship or taking things so quickly.”

Kenma looks completely and utterly relieved.

“What, did you think that all tengu immediately latched onto people they were interested in like that?” Akaashi asks, amused.

“Well, I only have one data point,” Kenma huffs, blowing on his tea before taking a sip. “I only know how Bokuto does things, and that’s quickly, with no hesitation.”

“Mm,” Akaashi hums, taking a sip of their own tea. “Would you...prefer to keep this separate from Bokuto, for the time being? It won’t offend me, I understand that his energy is a bit...much, for you to handle sometimes.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Kenma says, softly, “because I do. I just get so...so overwhelmed by him, sometimes, and it’s scary.”

Bokuto is like a whirlwind, and when he focuses on you, it feels like his entire world has narrowed down until you’re the only thing that exists. It’s powerful, and a bit terrifying, and it’s one of the things that attracted Akaashi to him in the first place. But that same energy and charisma can be intimidating, and if Bokuto is a hurricane, Kenma is a placid lake that might not be able to withstand the barrage of wind and rain.

“It’s fine, I understand what you mean,” Akaashi replied after a moment. “Let’s keep this between us for now, and we can bring him into things later if you decide you want to.” They take a sip of tea and arch an eyebrow at the witch. “Did you decide to pursue this after you saw me naked the other day?”

This time, there _are_ drinks around, and Kenma nearly chokes on his mouthful, his spine going rigid and his face flushing so quickly it looks painful.

Akaashi’s lips curl into a smile over the rim of their mug. “Hmm. Well, that’s really all the answer I need. Thank you. I’m quite flattered.”

Kenma hunches further down in his chair, until he’s at danger of sliding under the table, so Akaashi decides a change in subject is due. They got the reaction they wanted, after all.

And true to their word, things don’t change at first. They rarely see Kenma, and when they do, it’s always with Kuroo at his side, a clawed hand resting on his hip and a bony chin pressed against his hair. There’s a soft kind of envy in their stomach, when he sees Kuroo touching him, but it’s wistful; this isn’t something they’ll never have, but rather something to look forward to. The glances they exchange, Kenma’s gold eyes soft and warm from the other side of the booth, feels just as intimate and close as any touch.

After the thorough dressing-down they gave Bokuto about abandoning Kenma in the tengu realm, they weren’t exactly hopeful about being left to his own devices. It was in his nature to meddle, especially where Akaashi was concerned, but what they weren’t expecting was for it to be so _subtle_ and thoughtful. Once a week, usually on Thursday, Bokuto would slip out of bed early, kissing Akaashi softly and unhurriedly until they fell back asleep.

When they woke up, they would be right at the tail end of their morning routine when Kenma knocked at the door, looking soft and sleepy in the morning light, but undeniably happy to be there. That early, neither of them are quite up to talking, so they sit in the kitchen, sipping tea and watching the sun rise through the kitchen window. Sometimes they eat breakfast, anything from soft, flaky pastries filled with sticky jam brought from the bakery near Kenma’s apartment to traditional rice and miso and fish.

Sometimes, Kenma leaves after their tea, but more often than not, he has his bag with him, filled with loose pieces of parchment and books and his handheld gaming device. They sit in comfortable silence, Kenma on the couch with Akaashi at their desk, balancing the accounts for the stall or writing correspondences with the other tengu. He always plays his games with the sound off when he choses to relax instead of work, preferring the golden silence that seems to permeate the entire house.

It’s lovely, and novel for both of them. Both of their partners are so loud and energetic, this kind of placid calm is a relative unknown, and they’ll often go an entire visit without speaking a word. Bokuto and Kuroo would probably be horrified, but it’s something they both look forward to every week, especially when Akaashi stops working at their desk and brings their papers to the couch where Kenma tucks against their side, cheeks pink and the corners of his mouth turned up just enough to make Akaashi’s heart race.

They kiss for the first time during one of these pale mornings, when an unexpected frost leaves Kenma cold and uncomfortable in the house and Akaashi lends him one of their sweaters, rolling up the sleeves so they don’t cover his small hands and they’re already so close, Akaashi’s clawed fingers gentle as they turn up the fabric and Kenma’s head is tilted up just so, looking at the bridge of their nose and the cut of their cheekbones, that it’s so easy to bend down and brush their lips together, as soft and perfect as the dawn.

After that, Akaashi decides they need to have a conversation.

While they doesn’t care much for the kind of gossip Bokuto and Kuroo share, they’ve also gleaned a lot about Kenma from it. There isn’t quite an equivalent in the tengu realm, but from what they understand, Kenma isn’t terribly comfortable in his body, and it makes the physical affection between him and Kuroo strained and confusing at times. He doesn’t like to ask for contact, and sometimes when Kuroo kisses him or curls around him, he pushes and wiggles and turns his head away, only to eventually relax into it.

Perhaps he doesn’t like craving the physical affection, or it makes him feel more comfortable when Kuroo insists or when he can pretend like he’s merely tolerating the affection or like he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. Everyone knows that Kuroo is completely wrapped around his little finger, and the demon is startlingly intuitive about when Kenma doesn’t genuinely want to be touched. He’d never do anything he didn’t want, but Akaashi is distressingly lacking in this intuition, and they certainly don’t feel comfortable pushing if Kenma turned his face from them or tried to wiggle free of their embrace.

On this morning, Kenma is sitting against the arm of the couch, wrapped in an afghan with his bare feet tucked under Akaashi’s thigh. They’re both reading, and it makes it easy for Akaashi to interrupt without feeling guilty.

“Kenma. May I ask something of you?”

The witch raises their head, brows knit in concern, but he nods his head in assent.

“When it comes to the physical aspect of our relationship, would you try and be honest with me? I’d never do something without your explicit consent, but I mean that I’d _never_ do it. I don’t want to play your hot and cold game like with Kuroo.”

It’s perhaps a bit blunt, and the way Kenma’s cheeks flush like fire makes them worry that they’ve overstepped their boundaries. “I’m not. I don’t play games with him.”

Akaashi arches an eyebrow. “Bokuto has told me extensively about how Kuroo can tell which of your no’s actually mean no and which ones mean yes.”

Kenma curses rather colorfully, but it’s too quiet for Akaashi to parse what language it was supposed to be in. “It’s. He doesn’t-”

“I’m not insinuating that you’re taking advantage of him,” Akaashi says gently, their hand resting on one of Kenma’s ankles. “You two are literally bonded, and I think he enjoys it. But I take refusals very seriously, and if you push me away, I won’t cling. I’ll go.”

Hunched over his book, Kenma looks startlingly vulnerable, and he’s chewing on his lip to the point that it’s probably already bloody. “I feel gross,” he says, so softly that Akaashi has to lean in further to hear him. “I feel gross when I think about my body too much, and when Kuroo touches me, I can’t help but think about it.” He swallows thickly. “But sometimes it’s not so bad, if I can get past it, so I let him do what he wants.”

Akaashi rubs his thumb against the fragile bones lying under the thin skin at the top of Kenma’s foot. “I won’t say I understand how you feel, because I think to do so would belittle your feelings, but. We’re both different, in a way that’s quite similar, so I’ll support you in whatever way you need.”

Their gender identity isn’t something that much sleep has been lost over; tengu are ancient creatures, beings of myth and power and status, and it isn’t so unusual for them to shed gender identity entirely. Man or woman or neither or something in between, you’re still tengu, and nothing changes that.

But to his understanding, it’s not so easy for humans. Kenma is a man, and the genitals really have nothing to do with that, but that doesn’t change the fact that the witch feels _wrong_ in his body. Once again, it’s not something that would even have begun to register as an issue to Akaashi; tengu just don’t care about that sort of thing, and they hadn’t even realized it was something to lose sleep over until Bokuto brought it up, citing an argument Kuroo and Kenma had apparently had about a poor-fitting binder Kenma had bought. When his ribs ended up bruised, he staunchly refused to stop wearing his binder long enough for it to heal, and Kuroo had been furious.

Akaashi, naturally, was flabbergasted. But they were willing to learn and do what they needed to do to make Kenma comfortable in this relationship, which brings them back to the conversation at hand.

Kenma purses his lips, looking at Akaashi, and they meet his gaze evenly despite how those golden eyes bore into them like he’s trying to look at their soul.

“I’ll try,” he concedes eventually, and that’s all Akaashi would ask of him.

It means the going is quite slow, but that’s fine as well. To make things easier, they rarely touch unless Kenma himself initiates it, which means that it’s more the kind of casual intimacy they’re used to from Bokuto. Kenma likes to tuck his feet under their thigh on the couch or rest their hands together on top of the table while they sip their tea, and when the two of them walk through the market together, he takes Akaashi’s hand and puts it on the small on his back, keeping them close as they slip around bodies and haggle over prices.

Unlike with Bokuto, where they barely notices it anymore (although he does notice the absence of it), the tender, almost loving points of contact makes their skin tingle and their chest feel warm. And whenever Kenma leans close, face tilted up like a flower towards the sun, they feel light headed when they kiss.

If it never moves beyond that, they wouldn’t mind. The two of them don’t seem to share their partners’ seemingly insatiable sex drive, and while Akaashi would more than welcome the intimacy, they won’t push. If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.

Once again, it’s Bokuto who ends up nudging them forward, although this is more like a shove than anything else.

“Something interesting happened yesterday,” Bokuto coos, sitting cross-legged on the bed as Akaashi strips off their clothes, putting them neatly in the closet to be washed as he goes.

“Hmm?” Akaashi says, indulgently, because it’s obvious by the way Bokuto is speaking that he’s absolutely dying to share this information, but he’s waiting to be prompted.

“So Kuroo and Kenma were having sex-”

“ _That’s_ interesting?”

Bokuto whines. “ _Listen_ , I’m not done! They were having sex, and Kuroo had one of your pinion feathers-”

Akaashi turns around so fast that Boktuo yelps, holding his hands up defensively. “ _Why did Kuroo have one of my pinion feathers_?”

Wing grooming is a very intimate act, and one they both love partaking in. The soft, downy feathers from their lower backs or the back of their necks they don’t bother keeping, but the long, elegant feathers from their primary wings are carefully tucked away in a pair of matching boxes on top of the dresser. They haven’t been used for anything, but sometimes giving feathers can be seen as affectionate, especially if they’re voluntarily given to a non-tengu. At this point in their relationship, if Akaashi were to give Kenma a feather, it would be an intimate gift, one to give in private to signify that Akaashi trusted Kenma enough to groom his wings for him.

Which, they _do_ , they just...haven’t gotten around to giving one to him yet.

“Let me finish!” Bokuto says quickly, like he fears for his life. “They were having sex, and Kuroo had one of your feathers and he was, like, touching Kenma with it. Trailing it over his chest and stomach and thighs and stuff, and Kenma got really into it. Like, _really_ into it.”

Their anger is smothered quite effectively by the sudden burn that settles low in their stomach. They can picture it, Kenma splayed on his back, hair messy like strewn gold across the pillow, pretty pink lips parted and panting as Kuroo thrusts into him. And then, in one of those clawed hands, is a feather, trailing over Kenma’s pale skin, brushing the soft skin of his stomach, up his fragile ribcage to tease against his nipples before sweeping up the smooth column of his neck.

And Kenma is moaning, arching into the touch, thinking about _Akaashi_ while in the throes of his passion...

Bokuto’s lips slowly stretch into a grin. “You like that, huh?”

Akaashi growls, making their mate whoop in anticipation of the way he’s subsequently tackled back on the mattress and fucked into the headboard.

_Well_.

The next time they see Kenma, he won’t meet their eyes. He takes one look at the tengu and suddenly the floor is very interesting, and his cheeks are such a dark shade of red that it must be making him dizzy. It sends a pulse of warmth through Akaashi’s body, albeit a lesser one than the desire he experienced when first told of what happened.

Silently, Kenma sits next to them at the booth, and at least an hour goes by without him speaking a single word.

“So, are we not going to talk about this?”

Kenma hunches his shoulders, clearly trying to hide his face in the hood of his sweatshirt. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he mumbles.

“Bokuto said that Kuroo told him.”

The look on Kenma’s face is nothing short of murderous. Akaashi almost feels bad for Kuroo.

Slowly, so that the witch has plenty of time to stop him, they reach out and grasp Kenma’s chin gently in their clawed fingers, tilting his head towards them. His pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted and cheeks red, and he doesn’t blink as Akaashi takes him in, drawing closer until their lips brush and press.

It feels like all their other kisses, but Kenma makes a little noise in the back of his throat, fingers reaching out and resting in the soft down at the nape of Akaashi’s neck, mouth opening for the tengu’s tongue to slip inside, teasing the roof of his mouth and tonguing at his lower lip. Akaashi’s entire body feels hot, and they want to pull Kenma closer, into their lap, wants to _devour_ him-

“Excuse me?”

A very irritated voice breaks the two of them apart, and Kenma quite literally sinks into the floor, pulling his hood up over his head and hiding his face. Akaashi, on the other hand, looks unruffled, just a bit perturbed at being interrupted by the elderly witch standing with her arms crossed in front of their booth.

“How may I help you?” they ask, as pleasantly as possible.

When the customers (a few others came and queued up behind the witch) have been taken care of, Akaashi pulls the flap down in front of the booth, turning their attention to Kenma, who hasn’t moved from the floor, clearly mortified.

“Kenma,” they say, prompting those golden eyes to peek out from behind his fingers. “Would you perhaps be interested in a more...illicit visit to my home?”

Kenma swallows audibly. “You want to have sex.”

They cock their head to the side. “Very much so.”

That sends an interesting little shudder through Kenma’s body, and his cheeks are pink again. “I need to....Kuroo....” he mumbles.

“He’s welcome to come,” Akaashi says, shrugging. “Bokuto can keep him entertained. I’m not opposed to the thought of him being there.” Kuroo was attractive, and the way he made their mate so happy was enough to make him undeniably fond of the demon (despite his initial trepidation).

Kenma weighs his words. “I’m...not opposed to Bokuto being there either, in the same was as you, I suspect.”

That makes sense. They appear to have much the same relationship with the other’s partners.

“I’ll speak to Bokuto, then. He will come retrieve you two at dusk, but you can send him back if you two can’t come to an agreement. Unless this is all too sudden.”

Shaking his head, Kenma gets to his feet. “I...think sooner is better. I won’t chicken out.”

Akaashi reaches out, training their claws gently through Kenma’s hair. “It’s not chickening out if you aren’t ready. I said I would always respect what you want.”

Sighing softly at the tickle and prickle of claws against his scalp, the witch steps closer until he’s leaning against Akaashi’s chest, prompting the tengu to wrap their arms around him. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he says quietly. “I’m just good at talking myself out of things.”

“I understand,” Akaashi soothes, dropping a kiss to the top of Kenma’s head. “Rest assured; you are wanted, and I intend to treasure you.” That makes Kenma turn scarlet, and the tengu laughs affectionately. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll see you later,” Kenma confirms, leaning up for a proper kiss before slipping away.

That afternoon, Bokuto comes home to see them filing their claws down, and he actually whoops in excited anticipation.

Additional pillows and blankets are added to the bed, the curtains drawn and the harsh lights exchanged for the soft, flickering warmth of candles. Perhaps this approach is a bit weird, a bit business like, but the four of them are still new to this. They haven’t completely figured each other out yet, and they want to make sure everything is perfect.

Bokuto leaves, and when he returns, Akaashi almost doesn’t notice. Kuroo is usually obnoxiously loud wherever he goes, but tonight, he’s subdued, still smiling with a softness around his eyes that’s probably due to Kenma clinging to his arm. The two of them toe off their shoes, and Kuroo approaches them, extending the arm that Kenma is clinging to.

“I’m passing this off to you,” he says, cocking an eyebrow at the witch. “Bo and I will come join you later. Don’t want to overwhelm him all at once, you know?”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Kenma grouses, but he doesn’t complain when Akaashi extends their arm instead, and he shifts his hold from Kuroo’s sweatshirt to Akaashi’s sweater.

The demon gives him a look, and while it’s not quite a threat, it holds a kind of warning, albeit a soft one. He loves Kenma dearly, and he just wants him to be happy and comfortable and safe. Akaashi hopes that their returning look assures him that they wish for exactly the same, and that they would never dream of doing anything to hurt him.

They lead the way to the bedroom, leaving Bokuto and Kuroo in the kitchen, and Kenma snorts a laugh at the sight of the bed and all its pillows. “It’s like a nest,” he says.

“Well, we _are_ tengu,” Akaashi says mildly, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed, beckoning the witch closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Sick of people asking me how I’m feeling,” he says, walking closer until he’s standing between Akaashi’s legs, setting his hands on their shoulders. “It felt like Bokuto was trying to talk me out of it.”

“That just means he cares,” Akaashi snickers, settling their hands on Kenma’s hips and guiding him closer, until their bodies are nestled close. “We all care about you.”

Kenma’s cheeks redden, and he kisses Akaashi in lieu of answering. It’s soft, shy and tentative and reminding Akaashi of what it was like when they first started seeing each other. Those small, cold hands trail up from his shoulders to his neck and hair, stroking the soft strands and the downy feathers that the witch always seems a bit fascinated by. Akaashi has zero complaints; it feels wonderful.

Nipping lightly at Kenma’s bottom lip makes him sigh, opening his mouth to let Akaashi explore once more, this time more leisurely than at the stall. They have all the time in the world, and the tengu lets their hands wander up the clothed expanse of Kenma’s back, trying to coax him into slipping his tongue into their mouth as well. With a shiver that they can _feel_ , he follows Akaashi’s tongue, making a soft noise of surprise at the slightly sharper feel of the tengu’s teeth. They aren’t so sharp as to hurt him, but they _are_ pointier, and they think they actually have a couple more in their mouth than humans do.

But that doesn’t deter Kenma. Emboldened, he drops his hands to Akaashi’s waist, slipping up under the thick material of their sweater to feel the warm skin of their stomach and the sharp bones of their hips. Akaashi draws back, just enough to slip his sweater off and toss it aside, and Kenma sucks in an appreciative breath.

Akaashi is slender, of course, and now they’re more or less completely nude; the sweater was long enough to cover their hips, but now they’re wearing nothing. Softly, Kenma touches their stomach again, their chest, their shoulderblades and collarbone and the sensitive skin where their wings join his torso. It’s curious and exploratory, and it feels so good, especially when his fingertips linger and rub at their pectorals.

“You don’t have nipples,” Kenma murmurs, and it makes Akaashi laugh.

“We’re birds, so of course we don’t.” Teasingly, they slide their hands under Kenma’s sweatshirt, moving up until they can brush his nipples through his binder, and they can feel them change from flat and slightly puffy to hard little nubs. “I’m a bit jealous, though. I’ve heard that touching them feels quite nice.”

The witch is leaning on them more heavily, and they can feel his thighs clenching as his mouth falls open in pleasure. Akaashi rubs at his nipples with their thumbs, alternating speed and pressure as their mouth comes to rest on his neck, nipping at the smooth, pale skin there before laving at the small marks with his tongue.

“Akaashi,” he says, soft and breathy, fingers snaring in their hair and tugging distractedly on the strands.

“Can I take your shirt off?” they murmur, and Kenma stiffens at the question. The motions of Akaashi’s fingers stop, and they just rest their head in the crook of the witch’s neck.

“Yes,” he answers after a moment. “But...my binder...”

“Is it tight enough to be a problem?”

Kenma flushes. “No, I...wore one of my looser ones.”

Kissing his neck affectionately, Akaashi lets Kenma step back, and the witch doesn’t look at them as they strip off their sweatshirt and the t-shirt they were wearing underneath. The binder he’s wearing is white, and the material looks faded and well-worn and soft and, above all, comfortable. They can just barely see the hardened nubs of his nipples through the fabric, and Kenma looks hesitant again.

Akaashi scoots back until they’re propped up against the pile of pillows, and Kenma must see something he likes in the motion, because his lips twitch and his posture relaxes a bit as he climbs onto the bed, flopping down on his side next to the tengu. When clawed hands grasp his hips and pull him closer, he doesn’t protest, just laughs so softly it’s almost inaudible, and he’s smiling against Akaashi’s mouth when they kiss him.

“I feel like a little kid in a pillow fort,” he confesses, and Akaashi hums, lavishing attention on Kenma’s exposed collarbones.

“The goal was to make you comfortable, so I’m glad to see that we succeeded,” they murmur, tracing their claws against the soft skin of Kenma’s middle, his waist and stomach, making the witch shiver at the touch. It’s lovely, so they keep doing it, the tip of their claw dancing at the waistband of Kenma’s sweatpants.

With a sigh, Kenma tugs them close enough to kiss, and he isn’t shy about it this time, putting his tongue to use as his hands trail down to the feathers at the base of their spine, the same feathers that acted as the catalyst for this entire experience.

Everything about Kenma is soft, his stomach and thighs squishy but in the most delicious human way; tengu are birds, and as such, don’t carry a lot of extra fat on their bodies. Bokuto is muscular, and Akaashi is willowy, so the way Kenma’s skin feels under their fingertips is delicious, and it just makes them want to touch him more, touch him _everywhere_.

Shifting so that he’s practically on top of Akaashi, Kenma ends up with one of Akaashi’s legs between his thighs, and the witch moans softly in the back of his throat when they press their leg upward, rubbing against his crotch. He grinds slowly, like he’s testing the waters, head tipped forward and his lip caught between his teeth.

Akaashi leans forward, pressing their lips against Kenma’s ribs, right underneath the band of his binder, and his hips jump, rutting harder against his thigh, and Akaashi finds themselves wishing that the feathers on their legs weren’t quite so thick; it makes it harder to feel anything that isn’t pressure. They kiss their way up, liking the way the fabric feels against their lips, before they come to one of his nipples, tongue flicking out to tease against it through the cotton of his binder, wetting it before parting their lips and sucking.

Kenma moans, and Akaashi is so focused on drawing that sound out again that he doesn’t hear the door open.

“That’s _so_ hot.”

The witch whimpers at the sound of Kuroo’s voice, fingers gripping just shy of painful in Akaashi’s hair, but his hips don’t stop their slow grinding against their leg. Akaashi tilts his head to the side, able to just barely make out Kuroo, who’s grinning at them, and Bokuto, who is staring at them with such rapt awe that it makes them blush.

Kuroo’s hands settle on Kenma’s hips, and the demon leans forward to nose his hair out of the way before pressing kisses to the back of his neck. Akaashi, not about to stop what they were doing, moves to the other nipple, giving it the same attention coupled with the faint scrape of their teeth. Every time their teeth brush against the sensitive skin, Kenma’s thighs clamp harder around their leg, hips hiccuping in their steady motions, and Akaashi is so turned on they can barely see straight.

“Here,” Kuroo murmurs, tugging Kenma up into his arms until the witch is held in the air, and Bokuto (when the heck did he get over here), reaches out, reverently touching the witch’s thighs and calves before tugging down his sweatpants and boxers in one go. “Where do you want him?”

Akaashi wonders if being moved around so casually bothers Kenma, but his eyes are glazed with pleasure, head lolled back against Kuroo’s shoulder as his thighs twitch faintly, squeezed back together now that they’re bare as if he’s embarrassed, but still, he’s so pale and beautiful and perfect, all they want to do is touch him more.

Grasping those slim hips in his fingers, they draw Kenma closer until he’s straddling Akaashi’s stomach, his upper body still being supported by Kuroo’s strong arms. As his thighs part, the tengu can glimpse wetness clinging to the inside of his legs, and then they can _feel_ it pressing against their stomach, and Kenma is looking away, blushing so hard that it’s bleeding down their neck to pool at their collarbones, but that doesn’t stop his legs from squeezing tight around his waist, spreading that moisture as he settles.

Giving a little squirm, Kenma makes a discontent noise in the back of his throat, because Akaashi’s stomach is soft and has give to it, making it less than ideal for him to rub off against. But this is exactly what Akaashi was wanting, Kenma on top of them, wet and eager and whining for him, so they slip their fingers (the ones with the claws they’d dulled earlier) underneath his hips, right at the source of that moisture, and Kenma’s entire body jerks.

“There you go,” Kuroo says, one of his hands slipping down to press against Kenma’s stomach, rubbing in little circles as the witch squirms against Akaashi’s fingers. “How’s that? Feel good?”

Akaashi feels like their head is about to explode. Bokuto moves to lay next to them, stretched out against their side and peppering kisses against their shoulder and the side of their face. He’s breathing heavily, eyes hooded as he looks, watching the slow roll of Kenma’s hips and the flex to Akaashi’s forearm as they move their fingers.

In response to Kuroo’s question, Kenma just whines, and Akaashi can feel their fingers brushing against his clit, rubbing against the sensitive spot and slipping back far enough that he can almost push inside, but not quite. Every time his fingertips get close enough to tease, to just barely push at his entrance, Kenma keens and his rhythm stutters, his toes curling uselessly against the blankets.

“Do you want them inside you?” the demon husks, and the other three can’t help but groan in response. Kuroo can’t shut up no matter what he’s doing, so it shouldn’t surprise Akaashi that it applies to sex as well; they just wasn’t expecting that low pitch, the rough, gravelly sound of it, to shoot right to their crotch.

“Please,” Kenma says, lips parted as he pants for breath, eyes shining with desperate desire. “Please, Akaashi.”

And oh, the sound of their name from those lips, makes them so desperate to please, they’d do anything if Kenma asked it of him. Kuroo lifts Kenma again, just a little, the hand on his hip tilting him until Akaashi can see what lies at the junction of his hips, wet and pink and clenching with every restless shift of his thighs.

“Oh,” Bokuto coos, his head resting on Akaashi’s shoulder as he jerks himself off, slow and almost distracted in the way he touches himself. “That’s so good. That’s really pretty.”

“He can take two,” Kuroo says when Akaashi hesitates. “Your fingers are smaller than mine, so it’s fine. Just go slow.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything to negate this, just watches Akaashi with pupils blown wide with desire, and they decide to take that as assent. Watching Kenma’s face, the tengu presses his index and middle finger inside, going so slowly that they know that he can feel every inch of them filling him up.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Kenma pants, his hands grasping at Kuroo’s messy hair while the other falls to Akaashi’s forearm, gripping the limb tight as he starts to squirm again. He’s so _hot_ and wet and perfect, and Akaashi only has to meet Kuroo’s eyes before the demon is leaning Kenma forward, close enough that Akaashi can kiss him, messy and open-mouthed and uncoordinated and so good.

Kenma starts to grind against him again, and with their position propped up against the pillows, Akaashi can kiss him, his lips and cheeks and forehead and the soft line of his jaw. Their other hand drops from Kenma’s waist, fumbling blindly over feathers and a strong stomach before gripping Bokuto’s erection, making their mate moan and thrust into the circle of their fingers. Having both of them squirming against them, warm and making the most beautiful noises, is making them so aroused it’s almost painful.

Shyly, Bokuto’s clawed hands trace Kenma’s thighs, reaching around to cup his ass before unbuttoning Kuroo’s jeans, the sound of the zipper eclipsed by the way Kenma is whining, hands clenching and unclenching as he presses down so hard against Akaashi’s fingers that it hurts their wrist (but they don’t care, they don’t care at all).

Kuroo makes a noise, and Akaashi distantly wonders if Bokuto is jerking him off the same way Akaashi is jerking _him_ off. But no one is jerking _them_ off and they’re starting to get a little desperate.

“Hey, Akaashi,” Kuroo says, and he’s starting to sound a little strained. “Can I-”

He drops his hips, and something hot and hard presses against them through the damp feathers covering their crotch, and they see stars.

“Yes,” Akaashi grits out, shifting his fingers inside Kenma and the witch practically howls, tipping forward until he’s digging his fingernails into Akaashi’s chest. “Just don’t penetrate me.”

“Gotcha,” Kuroo says, and he makes sure he still has a good hold of Kenma (who’s supporting himself with his hands on Akaashi’s chest and with Kuroo’s hands on his waist) before he starts to grind his erection against the tengu. Bokuto sighs, moving just enough so he can card through the feathers keeping Akaashi covered, using his fingertips to part their lips and expose skin, delicious and wet and hot enough to make Kuroo groan as he finally ruts against something that isn’t feathers.

The demon is _big_ , the perfect size to rub against all their sensitive spots, making Akaashi moan softly and dig his talons into the sheets. Above them, Kenma is falling apart, whimpering and squirming with his entire body, clenching hard around Akaashi’s fingers as he starts to lose any semblance of rhythm. Bokuto reaches between them, pressing against Kenma’s clit with his thumb, and the witch shudders, crying out as he convulses, rutting hard against Akaashi and Bokuto’s fingers as he comes.

Akaashi watches Kenma’s face twist in pleasure, eyes clenched shut and his jaw tight before his lips part and he starts gulping down air, arms shaking in their attempt to keep them upright. Kuroo carefully lowers him until he’s laying on Akaashi’s chest, and the witch is limp, a warm, welcome weight against Akaashi’s body, and they waste no time in kissing them, Kenma’s lips soft and pliant in the wake of his orgasm.

One of his small hands rests on Akaashi’s elbow, following his arm down until he can touch Bokuto’s dick as well, tracing the head with curious fingers and making the other tengu swear loudly, his hips bucking hard.

“You two are gorgeous together,” he pants, and Kenma’s lips curl into a sleepy smile, thumb pressing against the tip of Bokuto’s erection, which is a move that’s almost always too much. With a groan that sticks in his throat, making it sound all the more desperate, he’s coming all over their fingers, streaking them (and Akaashi’s hip) with his release, thrusting into their hands a few more times before falling still and trying to catch his breath.

The whole time, Kuroo is rubbing against them, going slow enough that it’s this comfortable, ever-present build, like a fire slowly being stoked into an inferno. As Bokuto settles quietly into their side, they’re panting for breath, unable to move their hips due to Kenma’s weight pressing them down into the bed, but not being able to move almost makes it better. They’re powerless to do anything but accept what Kuroo is giving them, and if the way the demon is grunting and digging his nails into Kenma’s hips, he’s close.

“Akaashi,” Kenma breaths, squirming around just a little until he can get his hand between Akaashi’s hips and Kuroo’s moving body, his grip fumbling with exhaustion but no less curious, curling sloppily around Kuroo’s dick and pressing his fingertips against Akaashi’s slick skin, prodding at his entrance but not pushing in.

“Oh, fuck,” the demon curses, heaving a gasp, but Akaashi isn’t listening. Their vision whites out, hips bucking so hard that he almost displaces Kenma, but Bokuto manages to keep him from falling off even as he whispers in his mate’s ear “beautiful, you’re so beautiful Akaashi”.

When the world stops spinning, there’s come on the inside of their thighs as well as on their hips, Kenma is practically asleep on top of them, and Bokuto has started grooming their feathers distractedly, like he’s moving through syrup.

Sitting back on his haunches, Kuroo runs a hand through his sweaty hair and grins at the sight. “Should I bring something to clean everyone up?”

Kenma clings to Akaashi more insistently, and Bokuto whines pitifully. “I don’t think they’ll let me up,” they say, trying to look sheepish around how warm their chest feels.

Giving him a thumbs up, Kuroo disappears from the room, returning after a few moments with a couple warm, damp washcloths and a towel. He cleans up Kenma first (the witch squirms unhappily with overstimulation when the washcloth dips between his legs) before dealing with the mess clinging to Akaashi’s feathers. They’ll have to shower properly later, but for now, it’s good enough. Last comes Bokuto, who is the least messy of them, and once they’ve all been wiped clean and dried, Kuroo flops onto the bed behind Bokuto, spooning up behind him before reaching out to rest his hand on the small of Kenma’s back.

“Did you have fun?” he asks, and the witch wrinkles his nose at the fact that he’s being asked to _talk_.

“Mhm,” is the only response he wants to give, one of his hands sleepily clutching at the down on the back of Akaashi’s neck, the other resting on Bokuto’s forearm where it’s thrown over Akaashi’s chest. Bokuto is already asleep, and Kenma seems most of the way there, chest rising and falling easily and Kuroo and Akaashi both stroke his back. They’re all a mess of limbs, and Akaashi is the most trapped of all of them; they’d have to move all three of their bed partners to go anywhere.

But...they think they’re okay with being trapped, as long as it’s with the three of them.


End file.
